


Unfinished Harvest

by booktick



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottom Arthur, Light BDSM, M/M, POV Arthur, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Imbalance, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Timeline What Timeline, Verbal Humiliation, Wilderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-15 22:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17537501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booktick/pseuds/booktick
Summary: The shadow came into focus and there stood the man himself, Dutch van der Linde."Dutch?" He grunted."Well, aren't you just a sight?" Dutch had his hands on his holsters, thumbs hooked into it.





	Unfinished Harvest

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of this franchise.

* * *

The grass was never greener on the other side. Not for the van der Linde gang anyway. It had been nothing but wet mud and knee high snow. They had dragged themselves to the hilltop and taken up camp. It had taken time to set up something proper, tents and Pearson getting game to cook for meals. His own cot took getting used to, despite sleeping in the thing for plenty of nights before these. Even the air tasted different. 

He hoped this was a good sign for the gang. A sign of progress instead of five steps backwards. As Arthur woke, eyes adjusting to the light, he could hear Miss Grimshaw and Pearson exchanging jabs. A misunderstanding regarding morning grub from the sound of it. He'd probably get his ear grabbed in a bit, told to earn his keep and get some better meats and whatever else Pearson's mind came up with.

He raised his arm, laid it flat across his forehead to shield his eyes. The light trickled along his cheeks, warming them. He swallowed, lips smacked and he had a bad case of dry mouth. Not the best way to wake but certainly not the worst.

"Mister Morgan!" A shadow blocks the light. 

Arthur didn't move his arm away from his face but he tilted his head back. He blinked away the last bit of sleep from his eyes. His hips lifted as he shifted his weight some on the cot. The shadow came into focus and there stood the man himself, Dutch van der Linde.

"Dutch?" He grunted. 

"Well, aren't you  _just_ a sight?" Dutch had his hands on his holsters, thumbs hooked into it.

Arthur shut his eyes for a breath. When he opened them again, Dutch still stood there. The older man had his lips pulled back far, a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He was apparently gonna be Dutch's morning object of affection, whatever that meant nowadays. According to Marston, anyone and anything could be up for grabs when it came to a man like Dutch. Speaking of Marston, he couldn't hear the fool arguing with Abigail yet...hoped it'd stay that way but that was a fool's dream.

He pulled his arm away, pressed his palms down on the cot as he forced himself to sit up. His neck and back did not appreciate the effort. He groaned, rubbed at the back of his neck before he looked at Dutch again. By now, Dutch had been staring at the sky, head up at his forehead to shield his eyes from the sunlight. He let his eyes drag over the man's body, noticing the wrinkled vest and mud stained boots.

"Is it not a delightful morning, Arthur?" Dutch ran his fingers through his hair as he looked back, "A great morning for a little horseback riding, don't you think?"

"Guess so," Arthur shrugged, "Why? You wanting to do somethin', Dutch?"

"I have not had the luxury of wandering our new temporary home since we arrived."

 "No," he pushed up to his feet and stretched, jaw dropping as he yawned "'Spose not." He scratched his stomach.

"What do you say about you and me taking a ride out for a bit?" Dutch lit a cigar, puffing smoke into the air.

Arthur coughed into his fist as he moved towards the man. Instead of waving the smoke away, he headed towards his mirror and scissors on the barrel. Dutch stepped aside, eyes still burned into Arthur's back. The sensation spreads over him like a fever. He reached and sunk his fingers into the bowl of water, splashing the water in his face.

His soaked fingers ran through his hair, slicked it back some. Not exactly pomade but it was better than nothing. Another yawn made his jaw lock for a moment until he adjusted it. As he rubbed his hand at his jaw, the bristles there scratched at his fingertips.  He'd thought about getting a shave but a few days back Dutch had grabbed him by the chin and ' _A beard suits you, Arthur Morgan_ '. It hadn't been said but he figured that had been enough said to mean Dutch didn't want him to shave any time soon. If he held off too long and wasn't careful, he'd start looking like Uncle.

He shuddered at the thought, pressing a torn rag over his face. He tossed it back down on the barrel. He barely realized how close Dutch had gotten until he saw ring covered fingers pressed flat on the torn cloth on the barrel. He looked from the hand to Dutch, their eyes met and the world was heavy. He swallowed, and he saw how Dutch's eyes were steel. The smoke from Dutch's cigar blew past his ears as Dutch took another puff.

"Y'want me to ride, Dutch?" His voice was low.

He didn't move back from Dutch, didn't dare to. Dutch reached out with his free hand, his fingers pulled at one of the buttons on Arthur's shirt, played with it some. He looked down at the hand before lifting his head as it began to move up towards his face. Dutch cupped his chin for a breath or two, thumb brushed Arthur's lip carefully. There was a pause before a reply was given and Dutch pulled his hands away completely.

Dutch chuckled, "It's always a delight speakin' with you, Arthur." The old man winked before he pulled away, "Always a delight."

"I'll clean up and get ready to go ridin', Dutch."

"I'll be waitin'," Dutch turned his back to him, "Always happy to wait for you, son."

If anyone had taken the time to notice their exchange, no one asked about it. Arthur wasted little time getting a fresh pair of boots on and a jacket. The wind was cool today, made his bones ache but at least he'd be a bit warm in case it did storm. Sky didn't seem like it was growing a storm just yet. Things with the gang though? Always unpredictable no matter where they went.

He nodded to Miss Grimshaw as he walked by, tipping his head, "Ma'am."

"Going out huntin', Arthur?" She wasn't looking at him, had eyes on the horses, on Dutch.

"Maybe. Not sure yet." He smiled, "Dutch wants me to go ridin'."

Miss Grimshaw scoffed and turned her back to him, "I'm sure he does." She murmured so low he barely heard her.

He didn't particularly like the implications that were left there. But Arthur didn't want to go poking the bull so soon. He kept his smile at his eyes and nodded at her anyway as he hurried on by. He gripped his saddle and climbed upon his horse, settling himself there neatly. 

"You know what's buggin' Grimshaw today?" He lifted his hat some, enough so the sun didn't get in but he could still see, "Figured maybe she thought it was gonna storm. She hates 'em somethin' fierce."

Dutch didn't have much to say on either, "Don't mind her none, Arthur," he waved his hand in the air "Let's go." And off they went.

The roads seem to travel forever. The dirt kicking up as their horses ride through, leaving behind a dust storm for anyone that moseyed on by later in the day. Dutch, for once in his life, doesn't say much and that felt more like punishment than a luxury for Arthur Morgan. Every now and again, Dutch will say, "To the right here." and that's all that leaves the outlaw's mouth. Arthur couldn't help but think he'd gone and done something wrong again in Dutch's eyes.

In the end, he followed Dutch no matter where he went. 

It took a good part of twenty minutes he figured, maybe twenty five. It had felt like forever in the mostly silent ride. Their horses trot up to a cliffside with a nice patch of grass and few scattered trees. It'd make for a good spot of rest or to lay low in case of more dubious situations. The horses are tied to two tress that seem to lean on each other, shading them both from the sunlight above.

"You ain't said much whole ride here, Dutch." Arthur spoke up first.

But when he looked up, the older man was there and the steel behind those eyes shined something fierce today. Before Arthur could say much more, fingers slid into his hair and fisted the scraggly locks tight. He hissed at the tug Dutch gave, eyes shutting for a few breaths he needed to somewhat collect his bearings--not that there was much to collect to begin with. 

Dutch pushed forward, chest to chest with Arthur, who was still unsure of what was about to occur though he had a few ideas already. His steps were sloppy as Dutch continued to push him back. He stumbled his way backwards until he hit another tree, with what sunlight that did manage to get past the overbearing trees, he could see the way Dutch chewed at his bottom lip, as if in deep thought about what to do with Arthur Morgan. 

"That hurts, Dutch..." he mumbled. 

Dutch nodded and drooped his lids, "Does it now, Arthur?" The fingers in Arthur's hair yanked and the younger man had to tilt his head back some, tree bark scratched at the scalp and Dutch's knuckles. A small price compared to what Dutch had in mind it would seem.

"Du-" the name tastes like copper and it gets lost in Arthur's mouth when the old man pushed a kiss down on his.

He started to kiss back and Dutch seemed to let him...for a breath or two. It tastes like smoke and had to force himself not to cough. Too many cigars and too much yelling from camp had Dutch stained all over, inside and out. Before he can think too deeply about it, the ground meets Arthur Morgan sooner rather than later and harder than his knees appreciate. He barely had time to get on all fours when Dutch's palm pushed down on his back and got him down even further. There was a rustling behind him and a belt buckle coming undone, it doesn't take much for him to know what's going on behind him.

"Get your pants down, son," Dutch spoke and he listened " _Now_." The old man didn't have to tell him twice. 

Arthur picked up some of his dignity and took off his own belt. It was tossed aside with Dutch's, it's a bit trickier to get his trousers down but he managed to get them to his knees, bunched up from how he was positioned. Whether or not that's how Dutch wanted it--he didn't dare ask. He barely had enough time to even get his own prick out when he heard the rustling of fabric and breaths behind him.

The sounds behind him make it more than obvious Dutch had done something similar. What surprised him though was the smooth oil that wets his ass, fingers slipped between his cheeks and it took everything in Arthur not to lurch forward onto his belly again.

"You move when I _say_ you move," Dutch pressed his thumb in for a moment, hooked and sliding in some "Got  _that_ , Arthur?"

There was a moan fighting to escape his mouth but he swallowed it down. "Ye'sir." Arthur nodded, chin tucked to his chest.

"Good." Dutch slid another hand under Arthur's shirt and up the younger man's back, "Now be a good boy, Arthur, and tell me how much you  _want_ this." The words had one hell of a bite to them.

His cheeks grew hot, "I want it, Dutch-" his belly was blistering from the thighs Dutch said.

"I want it,  _sir_." Heavy rings dug into Arthur's spine as Dutch dragged his knuckles down his back.

He could see how his arms shook as he pressed his palms flat in the grass, "I want it,  _sir_." Louder this time.

"I'm starting to think Marston would be better as my companion today, Arthur," the thumb left Arthur with a pop and this time two fingers slid in with purpose, "At least John knows how to beg. But, _you_ , son?" 

Dutch twisted his fingers, rocked his hips against Arthur "I'm starting to think you've lost your way."

"Dutch...please-"

"What was that, Arthur?" The fingers, slick with oil, left Arthur all over again "I can't understand you when you murmur like that damn O'Driscoll." A palm came down on Arthur's ass, the sting followed soon after, enough to make Arthur hiss and curse the ground. 

Dutch grabbed a hold on Arthur's hip, the tip of the old man's cock pressed against him but didn't enter, "That it, Arthur?" 

"Du..." spit was starting to fill Arthur's mouth. 

"You gone and lost your faith in me, hm?" Dutch's voice was soft and serious, too much so "Is that what I get after everything we've been through?  _All those years and you go and act like a damn fool._ "

"I'm sorry, Dutch-" Arthur gasped, spit dripped from his mouth and they hadn't even started, "Honest...I can do better-"

A hand wrapped around the back of Arthur's neck, a bruising grip as Dutch gave the first thrust. The rings bite into the flesh more and more as Dutch starts to pick up a rhythm in him. His knees dug into the ground a little deeper and he felt that burn inside, sliding down from his cheeks and belly to his thighs and settles there. His cheek meets the ground when Dutch decided it was better suited there and it rubs at the grass with each thrust.

"I take you out ridin'," Dutch panted, "I dress you nice and give you money out of my own pocket  _despite_ us needin' it in camp."

The hand on the back of Arthur's neck pushed harder, keeping him pressed down in the field of grass. His knees were starting to ache, would have bruises come nightfall and yet Dutch didn't even give him a slip of kindness all the while bucking into him. His lips spread open and he could taste the rain that must have fallen before the Sun had come up, still cool and lost in the grass.

"I should have belted you in front of the entire camp," Dutch's body bowed against him, thrusts getting harder and losing their pattern, "Not even Hosea would have stopped me. No matter how much you went whinin' to him 'bout it."

Arthur did _not_ want to picture Hosea standing, watching Dutch do what he did and to _him_. The idea made the tingles in his arms shoot down to his fingertips. He wonders if this was breaking the rules yet. Dutch said not to move until...

He gasped louder this time, letting his fingers tear the grass from the ground. He held it in his palms and curled his fingers in for a few breaths until another thrust would knock the wind out of him and he'd have to let go of it.

" _You_ ," Dutch grunted, "have a God awful mouth on you, Arthur Morgan." He didn't know if Dutch expected or wanted an answer.

Arthur kept his eyes half shut to the world, cheek pressed and flattened the grass he just tore up from the ground, pushing it back down into it from the force. He could barely contain himself further from it all. He was close, wasn't sure about Dutch. With how his dick kept grinding, he was worried he'd end up with a leaking hard on and no relief by the end. Dutch had done it before.

"Talkin' back all the time." Dutch's voice had slipped into even a depth Arthur didn't even venture to.

Arthur shut his eyes. He tried to focus on the way it felt with his dick sliding along the ground like that, as it met with each time Dutch moved. He tried to ignore Dutch's chest against his bruised and battered back, the way he could have sworn he felt the other man's heartbeat. But Dutch's lips had gone to his ear and teeth raked over before nipping. His eyes gradually lifted, saw how the sunlight started to dance along the ground through the trees' leaves.

All of this was so different from up in those mountains they scampered through. Though he guessed that feeling up there never really left any of them, nonetheless Dutch. He figured being around Dutch was like being back on the mountains, never had a clear idea where the man would take you and was twice as dangerous. 

From this position, he wasn't so sure if that was always a bad thing.

"Please, Dutch," he groaned "Need you..."

"You  _need_ me, Arthur? You _need_ me?" Hot breath greeted Arthur's face.

"Please?" Arthur's voice was hoarse, "Need it...hurts-"

"You are precious to me, son," Dutch muttered, "But don't you tell me what I need to do." 

For a moment, Arthur was sure Dutch was going to leave him wanting after he was finished. A hand left his neck and wrapped around his cock, stroking Arthur slowly and carefully, not at all like the reckless thrusts behind him. He panted hard, enough he nearly choked on his own spit until he came undone in Dutch's grip. Pleasure spread over him like the sunlight through the trees. He didn't feel so hidden from the world anymore and that...that was terrifying and exciting at the same time.

Dutch grunted in his ear, "Arthur-" and tensed against him before crying out softly.

"T...Thank you..." Arthur murmured and shut his eyes for another time.

It seemed, in the end, Dutch was in the same situation Arthur was. Open to the world and trapped at the same damn time.


End file.
